


Lasting Impression

by Indigo2831



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Buck Is A Rockhead, Buck and Eddie's Co-Dependent Bromance, Buck's In The Hospital Again, Canon Compliant, Developing Friendships, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Evan Buckley's Heart of Gold, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:02:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24294799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indigo2831/pseuds/Indigo2831
Summary: First impressions said a lot about a man, and Eddie’s initial experiences with Evan Buckley indicated that he was cocky, insecure, needlessly competitive but fortunately a damn good firefighter...OrStand-alone moments from Eddie Diaz's friendship with Evan Buckley.
Relationships: 118 Firefam - Relationship, Evan “Buck” Buckley & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 135





	1. Wildcard

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! Like everyone dealing with quarantine on top of regular life has been a lot. I haven't been able to write, but I'm getting back into the swing of things and writing again. I really wanted to see moments from Buck and Eddie's friendship, so that's what this is. I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think. Stay safe, everyone!
> 
> UPDATE: In light of Ryan Guzman's racist comments, this series is officially complete. FFS.

Even before Eddie had gotten the scars and medals of war, he had always been labeled as “too serious” or “reserved.” There was some truth to the fact that he liked to keep his emotions closer to his soul, like a creature thriving in the murk and pressure of the deep ocean. It was why he thrived to the built-in camaraderie of the army, and why he gravitated towards being a firefighter. Unfortunately, the brotherhood he missed so much since leaving the service was far on the other side of torturous small talk, learning new routines, and trying to open himself up to new people. Eddie drew in a deep breath before heading into the station. He nodded to a few of the exiting members, noting that he needed to earn their names at some point. He changed quickly and headed upstairs. The 118 usually ate meals together, but after a busy morning of getting a nine-year-old off to school, he preferred just enjoying a protein bar, a smoothie, and a hearty helping of quiet. 

He bounded up the stairs, and inwardly screamed a bit at the sight of Evan Buckley putzing around the kitchen. First impressions said a lot about a man, and Eddie’s initial experiences with Evan Buckley indicated that he was cocky, insecure, needlessly competitive but fortunately a damn good firefighter. Eddie bypassed the kitchen to sit in the rowdy lounge in an attempt to bond with his new squad, though he hoped they didn’t talk to him.

An instant later, Eddie was rocked by the force of Evan Buckley flopping on the couch next to him with a proximity that was far too close for two grown men and strangers to sit. “I copped your smoothie recipe,” he said, eyes flashing with ice blue mischief. 

He sipped at a garishly green cup and proffered Eddie a second. He stared at it with hesitation.

“It’s not poisoned,” Evan laughed. “Bananas, ice, oat milk, spinach...all the good stuff.” 

He let the smoothie hang in the air, and wobbled it back and forth until Eddie had no choice but to take it so he could avoid a spill. The smoothie glugged up the straw and entered his mouth with a bit of rich sweetness. It was decent, and less chalky than his own rushed versions. Of course, Buck didn’t have a nine-year-old to get up, dress and feed. “Thanks, Evan.” 

Buck beamed at him, and Eddie found it furiously endearing and oddly reminiscent of Christopher. “It’s Buck.” 

Nicknames. He forgot about his obsession with them. “Right, Buck.” 

“Hey, check this out,” he started scrolling through his phone with excited purpose, tongue dipping out of his mouth. So  _ Buck _ was either a kid at heart or had the spirit of a golden retriever. After a few moments, Buck handed him his phone. “I can’t decide, so I want your opinion.” 

“My...what?” Eddie had joined the 118 three days ago. And two of those days, Buck had battled Evan on everything from EMT skills to service record, but now he wanted advice? Who was this guy?

With a frown, he took the phone and prepared himself to judge between two waifish, fish-lipped, bottle-blonde aspiring actresses on Bumble or a series of obnoxiously tricked out cars straight out of  _ Fast & Furious _ . So he was admittedly thrown to see images of three beautiful gold necklaces all with pendants of different sizes, shape, and made with varying gemstones. 

He turned to Buck for an explanation. 

“You have a kid, so I figured there was a mom or a girlfriend at some point,” he said, clearly not fishing for details. “My sister just got back into town, and I’ve missed like a decade of special occasions, so I can’t decide which one to get her. I can’t look at another necklace anymore. I need fresh eyes. What do you think?” 

Eddie was confused. “I don’t even know your sister.” 

Buck threw his hands in the air. “That’s perfect, though! Go with your gut. She’s awesome. I think she’s going through some crap, but she’s still the sweetest person ever. She’s an ER nurse. I think I got the life-saving thing from her, ya know?” 

“Is cost an issue?” 

Buck waved him off. “I lived with roommates for years, so nope.” 

Eddie scrutinized the photos, pressured by the importance of the task. If Buck’s sister was anything like him, Eddie would think she’d want something almost gaudy. And yet the last few minutes with Buck had negated practically everything he’d assumed about Evan Buckley. He squinted at the photos again, pinching and zooming, making eliminations based on instinct. “I mean, man, I don’t really know, but I really like this one.” He indicated a striking necklace with the delicate gold beads dotted its chain and a diamond X pendant. 

Buck’s face sparkled more than the gemstones. “You think so?” 

“Again, having never met her, this is the best I could do. It’s something she can wear every day and the ‘X’ looks like a medical cross, and you said she was a nurse, so…” 

“Thanks, man. Enjoy that smoothie!” Buck gulped the rest of his down and got up from the couch, smooched Hen as she entered the kitchen, and disappeared into the bunks.

Eddie stared after him for a few seconds before brushing it off. Shannon always played the elimination game with him--asking him what outfit to wear only to pick the option he objected against. This had to be the same thing, a way of thinning the selection. After the first few calls, he’d forgotten about it.

When Eddie met Maddie a few weeks later, she was wearing the necklace he’d picked out. He felt strangely honored.

Eddie didn’t know who Evan Buckley was, but something told him he was a wildcard, and a truly special one.


	2. Badass and Bougie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buck never ceases to surprise Eddie in all the best ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love for the first story. Here's another series update for the holiday. I hope you enjoy these insights into Eddie and Buck's friendship. I have a lot of ideas planned, but if you have any suggestions, hit me up. Stay safe, everyone!

“There was no way one of us isn’t leaving here on a gurney,” Hen groused as they entered the outdoor shooting gallery of the gun range.

The LA sky filled with generous baubles of sundrenched clouds that thankfully buffeted some of the insufferable heat. Eddie fidgeted, cupping his hands around the brim of his ball cap, crossing and uncrossing his arms. Technically, he was a civilian and yet he was still unsettled and cagey if he didn’t practice shooting every few months. To further complicate things, a gun range was a difficult place to be, with the muffled crackle of gunshots and peppery scent of gunpowder lingered in the air like the haunting of stubborn ghosts. 

“My money says Buck shoots himself in the foot,” Eddie smirked as he put on his sunglasses. 

Buck whisked back the purple hood of his Lakers sweatshirt to reveal burgeoning curls that for once weren’t shellacked down with gel. “How much?” 

“What?”

“Put your money where your mouth is,  _ Diaz _ ,” Buck challenged. 

“I’m not going to bet that you’re going to  _ shoot yourself _ . Even you’re not that dumb,” Eddie teased. 

“What about $10 bucks for every target I hit?” 

Hen threw her head back and cackled. “Buck, he’s an actual soldier. With medals and everything.” 

Buck popped his gum and lifted his eyebrows over his own sunglasses. And Eddie rolled his eyes, eager to humble the arrogance right out of him. “Fine, I got $0 extra bucks. Let’s go.” 

The bet was sealed with a fistbump. 

Hen pulled out her phone. “I’m a pacifist who was promised tacos, so I’ll record this for prosperity. And Instagram.” 

The attendant brought out Buck’s borrowed Beretta M9 as Eddie prepared his own, which he kept locked up in the garage at all times. Like most things attached to combat, the weight of it in his hand felt both contentedly familiar and markedly painful, poking at the soul-deep wounds of war that would never quite heal. “Do you need help loading yours?” Eddie asked. 

Buck loaded his own with shocking precision. “I got it,” he said casually. “YouTube,” he explained with sarcasm as he pulled back the slide.

There were five metal targets in front of them--dented discs on a rigging in front of a high, dusty berm built to absorb the bullets and contain the sound. Eddie traded his sunglasses for safety glasses, took aim and fired, squeezing off a few rounds for warm-up. He was a medic in the Army, but he was still a soldier, and ironically, his job required just as much shooting as surgery. When he was ready, he squared his feet, took a deep breath, and fired at the targets. Hitting three in rapid succession, missing the fourth by a millimeter, and recovering for the fifth. 

It wasn’t perfect, but there was no way he was getting beaten by civilian. Eddie grinned, chest puffed out with confidence. “Your turn, Buckley.” 

Buck kept his sunglasses on, and blew a bubble with his gum before lifting the Beretta, and firing five bullets in a blur of speed. 

Five bullets. Five metallic clangs. 

Buck had hit them all center mass.

Hen’s jaw dropped. Eddie cursed.

To add insult to injury, Buck fired a sixth shot. Hitting the target Eddie missed. He glanced at Eddie, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips even though he fought it. “Round 2?” 

“No  _ fucking _ way,” Eddie gasped.

“Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that, Buck? Spy school?” Hen asked. 

Buck shrugged. “BUDs.” 

“What’s that?” 

“That’s...training for the freakin’ Navy SEALs,” Eddie announced. 

Hen clapped a hand to her forehead, dumbfounded. “So spy school.”

“Did you graduate?” Eddie wondered. He knew three buddies alone who hadn’t. His insecurities about Eddie’s service record when they began seemed a bit more clear. 

“Technically, yes. I rang the bell after we completed the last day. It just wasn’t for me, ya know but I wanted to see it through.” 

Eddie understood, and he was still impressed. Buck had no fear when approaching some of the scarier and grueling aspects of firefighting. In fact, he was never more focused and more brilliant than when he was facing certain death. He’d leap over the side of a building with a devil-may-care smirk and axe through fire-infested walls without hesitation. And he also invested his entire heart into his job and the people he saved. Eddie knew of at least five former rescuees that Buck was friends with. Military combat, especially the sanctioned violence of the SEALs, would have crushed that spirit out of him completely. While Eddie sometimes wanted to clobber him for getting so attached and caring so much, his compassion made him a remarkable firefighter, and an even better friend. 

Eddie pulled out his wallet to pay his bet, but Buck waved him off. “I hustled you, man, keep your money. Are you feeling better?” 

He’d been slightly annoyed when Buck texted him on a rare day off without Christopher to warn him that he was on his way over. The single father had plans to brood about the hopeless state of his marriage and maybe squeeze in a trip to the gun range between errands in a desperate attempt to quell his own anxiety that had been niggling at him all week. Somewhere between that text and Buck gaping at him looking at like a cocksure popsicle in bright purple and gold, the restless slither beneath his skin has vanished and a bit of the weight he carried had been lifted. Had Buck known? 

Of course he had. Eddie had never laughed or relaxed more than when he was hanging with Buck. The firefighter was good at smashing through proverbial walls too. 

“Yeah, I am. Thanks.” 

Buck rewarded him with a full beam. “Good. Now let’s make Hen shoot some.” 

Eddie laughed at the idea, a deep chuckle from his belly. They safely put their guns down and barraged Hen with an insufferable combination of frustrating trashtalk and patronizing encouragement that smoothly transitioned to cheers and compliments when she relented. 

Eddie watched at Buck showing her the proper stance and assuring her that she’d be even more of a badass after hitting a target, and was struck with how breathlessly grateful for the workings of fate that had brought them together. 

And then he leaped forward to join in.


	3. The Grief-Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tag to 2.13's "Fight or Flight." A horrific call reveals just how badly Buck is struggling with what happened to Maddie and Chimney and him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably isn't ready to be posted, but the world is burning and there's a pandemic and my laptop is on the fritz and I can't sleep, so I'm posting it. Hopefully, this hurts in the all the right ways and comforts in all the right ways. Let me know what you think. Sorry for the typos. Thanks for the love.
> 
> TW: Mentions of domestic violence
> 
> Update: Edited on May 31st.

When Eddie was twelve years old, there were two stray dogs that roamed the neighborhood. Unlike the shaking, mange-crusted puppies on the heartbreaking ASPCA commercials, these dogs were proudly wild. One was a fluffy beaut with a wolfish face and a jagged scar on its snout. The other was a regal doberman with floppy ears, a barrel chest, and a crooked tail. They lived off rodents and accepted meals and water from the kindhearted neighbors with a wary skittiness that protected their freedom. After a few seasons of people trying to catch them with no success, they gave up and just admired the two dogs frolicking among the squat mesquite trees or shading under bushes in the Texas heat. One morning, Eddie awoke to a mournful howl. From his bedroom window, through the tufts of twilight and fog, Eddie could see the fallen body of the dog, its bottlebrush tail limp and caked in mud, and the doberman perched and crying over its slumped body.

The cool dawn air curled into the window as he slid it open, pillowing his curtains into bloated masses of navy blue cotton. The howls filtered in, a primal cry of pure grief that echoed through the neighborhood and brought tears to the boy’s eyes.

The dog had died of natural causes, and it was only then that the Doberman allowed himself to be caught, and was eventually adopted by a family in the neighborhood with three children and lots of love. On rare nights, Eddie still heard the shrill, lilting howl of profound loss curling through the plains.

Eddie hadn’t thought about the dog--later named Nomad--in years, but when Buck returned to work two weeks after Maddie’s abduction and Chimney’s stabbing radiating shock and remorse, he flashed back to that dawn at his bedroom window, listening to a wild grief-song. 

In the months since he started at the 118, Buck had become a constant in his life, invading it like the thick invasive roots of a tree. Eddie wasn’t sure he could fight it if he wanted to, especially after Christopher met Buck and was immediately smitten. Eddie hadn’t quantified just how much he was lifted and loosened by Buck’s silliness and penchant for trouble until his friend had been replaced with his glazed-over, shell-shocked stranger. 

Even the promise of a rescue-induced adrenaline rush hadn’t perked up his friend. Eddie regarded Buck with naked concern as he daydreamed, swaying with the bumping of the truck as the smaller houses and modest apartment buildings gave way to the sprawling, multi-million dollar homes and intricate landscaping. 

“Hey,” Eddie called into his headset. “Are you here?” Eddie reached forward to slap his knee. Buck’s eyes, an icy blue, flickered to him. “You have to be here. We’re about to go into a fire. I need you focused,” he instructed. “Are you?” 

Buck pressed his lips into a firm line. “I’m trying...I’m here,” he nodded with determination.

“Good.” 

Eddie had been through a few of Buck’s emotional cycles already (though it was never for anything this serious as the abduction and attempted murder of a sibling and friend). He’d retreated into himself to brood and spin out, and would eventually explode in some head-slappingly dramatic yet maddeningly selfless way. Eddie just needed to support Buck through his processing period.

The engine skidded to a halt in front of an impressive Spanish-style home with a terra cotta tile roof, an intricate stone walkway, and arched windows--two of which were puffing with plumes of smoke. 

For all the pomp and circumstance of smoke and sirens, the fire was contained by a chemical extinguisher and a hearty spray of water. The homeowner, Ivan, a wiry man with the lean physique of a runner and a head of rough, sandy blond hair, was effusive and grateful, oozing appreciation for the firefighters while edging them towards the door. “This is great. Thank you so much. I can’t believe I’m so stupid.” 

Eddie whisked off his helmet, barely winded from the exertion. While Bobby and Chim checked for structural damage outside, Buck trailed the scorch marks on the fire-eaten hallway rug, a closed door, and the tiled floor below. He placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the surrounding area and the walls. Both of which were fire-free. Strange. 

Fire wasn’t as unpredictable as most people feared. Once you were trained on its behaviors, its loves, and its quirks, its actions could be interpreted and even predicted. It was also something Buck excelled at. 

He shot Eddie a loaded glance that conveyed the disquiet squirreling around in Eddie’s stomach. The neighbors had made the 911 call, not Ivan. “How did the fire start, sir?” Eddie asked.

The man scrubbed a hand through his coarse hair, and stammered wildly about sandalwood candles and cheap rugs yet there was no wax to be found. He noticed Buck palming the smoke-scarred doorknob, and his muddy blue eyes widened in something akin to terror. “Hey, wait, that’s locked.” 

Buck rattled the doorknob with a gloved hand. “I see that, sir, but we need to investigate what’s behind the door to ensure the fire is totally out.” 

“That’s not necessary, guys. Really. Thanks for everything. I’ll be sure to make a donation to the fire-fighting charities on your behalf. I'm sure you have other calls, reports. I need to air this place out and call my insurance company.” 

Buck all but glared at Ivan. 

The sudden thickness of the air had nothing to do with the lingering smoke or the heavy odor of burned wool. Something was glaringly wrong. After their first disastrous call, Buck and Eddie discovered that they had a peculiar non-verbal connection that enabled them to wordlessly communicate while fighting fires, and months of friendship only nurtured it. So with a little more than a the cock of Buck’s head, Eddie reacted on sheer instinct. Buck rammed a shoulder into the door--once, twice-- until it opened with a splinter of wood and a rush of smoke as Eddie braced a hand against Ivan’s chest to block his desperate charges. 

“You don’t have a warrant!” he spat in Eddie’s face, outraged.

"We don't need one!" Eddie yelled back. 

Then he radioed the captain, requesting police support and craned his head to see why Buck’s voice was alternating between frantic calls of his radio and coos of solace. 

He caught a glimpse of a bruise-blue arm limply hanging over the edge of a blood-streaked clawfoot tub. 

“EDDIE!” Buck hollered. “NOW!” 

Keeping the homeowner in his periphery, Eddie backed into the bathroom, choking on the smoke that had been trapped there, and the horror of the scene that played in front of him. A woman with blood streaked hair, a misshapen face had been tossed in the antique tub of a well-appointed bathroom. Blood dripped off the golden taps and down the drain. Buck knelt half-in and half-out of the tub doing compressions. His forehead and upper lip gleamed with sweat. “Get Hen…we gotta bag her.” 

Her eyes were swollen shut. Her nose was visibly broken. And Eddie could see a hypoxic blue at the corners of her mouth beneath the stains of soot, and knew she was probably gone. But he took in her dark hair, the fact that her clothes were wet to stave off fire, and the shamrock-green acrylics on the ends of her hands and knew they had to try.

Eddie radioed for assistance as Buck continued compressions, and he kept a wary eye on the homeowner, who paced back and forth outside of the bathroom, puffing himself up with indignant rage. Eddie only now noticed the owner’s bruised and split knuckles. 

The evidence was undeniable. The man had beaten this woman nearly to death and attempted to set a fire to cover his tracks. 

Hen arrived, and Buck stood back to let them work. Eddie swapped his fire-resistant gloves for the medical variety, and took over compressions as Hen grabbed the ambu bag. Eddie split his awareness between the victim and Ivan. 

“Either way, she's not pressing charges,” Ivan boasted with grim certainty. “She never does.” 

Firefighters often responded to the aftermath of crime scenes. Nothing would ever negate the soul-scarring shock of what humans could inflict on each other. 

In the cramped bathroom, awkwardly jammed into the tumb, Eddie checked for her pulse, praying openly. “C’mon, c’mon.” 

Buck cracked his knuckles and purposely ignored Eddie even as he spoke to him. “I read an article that explained the psychology of abusers. It had a lot of scientific mumbo jumbo that you, Ivan, wouldn't understand, but it basically boiled down to the abuser being an absolute cowardly piece of filth who has to prey on people and things he knows are weaker than them.” 

Even as a pulse registered in a tacchy, uneven thump beneath his fingers, the queasiness churning in Eddie’s stomach only intensified. Buck was barely in the right headspace to fight fires, let alone deal with a domestic violence call on the heels of Maddie’s ordeal. Eddie held her neck still as Hen applied the brace. Once her c-spine was stablilized, they lifted her out of the bathtub and onto the backboard.

“Hey, Buck, go clear a path. We’ll be ready to transport so soon as the RA gets here.” Eddie suggested. 

Buck crossed his arms. “I’m not worried about leaving you alone with him, but protocol states that I have to, so I’m staying.” 

“God-dammit, Buck,” Hen swore. 

Eddie’s hands shook as he inserted a large bore IV. 

Ivan stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Listen to your buddy and run along.” 

Buck smiled, displaying all the mirth of a starving lioness. Rage twisted the angles of his face into something barely recognizable. “Nah, I want to be here when the cops arrest you. I’m going to record it and post it on Instagram. I’m going to watch it every morning and smile knowing you’re in prison.” 

Ivan flinched with his entire body. He was becoming increasingly angry. And Buck pressed on, finding new and brutal ways to insult and enrage him. Eddie could only pray for the police to arrive before Ivan burned through the last of his resolve.

Finally, Eddie heard the distant call of police sirens, and dared to feel a bit of relief. 

Of course, that was the moment everything erupted. 

The woman returned to consciousness, crying and coughing on the backboard, claiming she fell.

Buck snarled something deliciously heinous about Ivan that finally broke through his facade of smug composure. He launched himself at the firefighter with an unexpected ferocity and alarming strength. 

Violence aside, Eddie and Hen had no choice but to focus on the first priority of their patient, whose vitals were still erratic and arm that needed to be splinted. The irony was not lost on Eddie that was on the default medic because Chim was still recovering from being stabbed by serial abuser Doug.

It didn’t stop Hen from radioing Cap for assistance and dispatch to hurry the police response. Eddie tried to tune out the sounds of brutality to no avail.

Ivan nailed Buck in the face with a vicious punch, then another, in less than a second. Eddie knew that Buck, a graduate of BUDs, was trained in hand-to-hand combat, but either he refused to use it or didn’t have the chance to defend himself from the initial attack. His head rocked back with a spray of blood, helmet arcing through the air as the force of Ivan’s blows knocked him to the floor. 

Buck was bleeding from his nose and mouth. Ivan relished in having the upperhand for unimpeded violence and kicked blindly, energized by feet meeting flesh. 

“I got this, Eddie. Go help him.” Hen urged. 

By the time Eddie left the bathroom, Ivan was straddling and strangling a writhing Buck with glee. At Eddie’s yell, a red-faced Buck extended his arm and an angle and shot it down, breaking the vice-grip Ivan had on his throat. Wheezing, he skidded back on his elbows to get enough leverage to donkey-kick Ivan in the groin and sweep his legs with an efficient slide-turn of his body. 

The police leaped on Ivan with Athena leading the charge with a knee digging into his back and a gun trained on his head. “You are under arrest for assaulting a LAFD firefighter…”

Which had been Buck’s plan the entire time. 

Abusers could skate from charges or jail-time, even if their victims pressed charges. There was little legal maneuvering that would get Ivan out of an assault on a firefighter, an uncontested hero.

Buck hacked and wheezed on the floor of the house, face smeared with blood, neck purpling, eyes streaming. Eddie knelt down beside him to try to hold him still. “You idiot,” he gasped, but he grabbed Buck’s hand to hold as he fought through pain, both physical and not. 

++ 

“So am I going to have to get used to visiting you in the hospital?” Eddie asked Buck’s profile as he entered the treatment room.

Six hours after the nightmarish call, and Eddie was finally off-shift. He had bolted from the station and drove through the hospital without bothering to change out of his uniform. He reeked of smoke and sweat, but his funk was a minor nuisance considering how badly Buck had been beaten. He hadn't fought Athena and Hen's insistence upon transporting him to the ER via ambulance.

His friend sat hunched-shouldered on the gurney, legs swung over the side. His hospital gown hung open at his neck, revealing crimson patches of rug burn and blossoming bruises across his shoulders. Buck rolled his eye--the white of which was a worrying pink from strangulation. He pointed to his throat and the garish violet handprints and scratches there, and shook his head. 

“Vocal rest, huh? How bad is it?” Eddie missed the days of paper charts.

_ It just hurts _ , he mouthed. 

Eddie winced. “Let me see the rest.” 

Buck ran a hand through his mussed hair, and turned his head towards him fully to reveal the right side of his face. It had taken the bulk of Ivan’s violence, and was worryingly swollen. The eye was a mere puffed, purple slit rimmed with lashes. The cheek rose to meet it. And his lip was split and bulbous. He gingerly re-applied a melting cold pack.

Eddie swallowed tears and obscenities. “Anything broken?” 

Buck held up his left hand to show him the splinted middle finger. 

“I’d say you’re lucky, but…” 

Buck flashed his broken finger again, and Eddie snorted a laugh.

Eddie gently eased onto the gurney with him. “I came here to lecture you, man, for putting your life at risk like that. And then I thought about what happened to Maddie and Chim and  _ to you _ , and what a big-hearted rockhead you are. And I thought about what I’d do if anyone ever did that to my sisters and my friend. I decided you get a one-time pass as long as you promise to never do anything so incredibly reckless ever again.” 

Buck waggled his head as if he was considering it, dark humor flashing in his left eye.  _ There he was _ .

He bumped his shoulder. “It’s not your fault--what happened to Maddie.” 

Buck rammed a fist into the mattress and nodded wildly, swollen lip trembling. “L-let her push me away,” he croaked. And Eddie cringed at the frayed rasp of his voice. “And left her apartment.”

“You and I both know it’s more complicated than that,” Eddie said. “And the one thing that’s always been clear is that it’s not your fault. You gave your sister the space to heal and to stand on her own two feet. You showed her how to save herself.” 

Buck’s face crumpled and he buried it on Eddie’s shoulder and sniffled wetly into his neck for a few long, awkward moments, trying to cry around a mangled throat and a battered, aching face. Eddie swept a hand up and down his back and made wishes as he comforted him. He wished he could erase this day from existence, magically wipe away its trauma like a teacher cleaning a blackboard. He wished he lay waste to whatever in life had told Buck he wasn’t good enough unless he was jumping off buildings or risking his life to save those who couldn’t be saved. He wished Doug and Ivan and men like them were never born.

Reality was far crueler than anyone deserved, and nothing would make those dreams come true. So Eddie let Buck leak and shudder against him for as long as he needed, and then he took his friend home. 


End file.
